Aquarelle
by Razer Athane
Summary: Colours were the only way that Peeta knew how to cope with trauma. -Oneshot-


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: I found bits of this half written in my tumblr drafts sooo I came and finished it. Mockingjay spoilers. Enjoy!

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**AQUARELLE**

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Peeta Mellark was an important piece in the Capitol's Games. He knew there were other important pieces too, but he couldn't remember them. Not since he had been suddenly taken from the torture chambers and into District Thirteen, which wasn't supposed to exist at all.

Maybe he lost his mind. The lights sparkled like some of his memories. The walls were muted and depressing, like the memories that _didn't_ shine. Someone faceless told him it was a hospital, but he was alone in the room with no other ill companions; and before long he was unconscious.

He would wake up alone every so often, tied down and with tubes shoved into his arms. All he could see was an endless stretch of light, clinical grey. It almost looked white, but Peeta knew better. He was a painter. That was how he coped through those moments in the Capitol, and until he knew what was going on now for sure, he would use that method again. Especially now that there were _lively _people as opposed to peacekeepers.

Just like they were _all_ pieces in President Snow's Games, they would all be colours on his palette. Watercolours, to be specific, because there were so many shades that these people could be. There was who they were to him, and who they were behind his back. Muted or bright. Faint or overbearing.

Colours were the only way that Peeta knew how to cope with trauma.

President Coin was black. That much was easy. Powerful, detached and hate-filled, but somehow enticing. She told him they were going to help him heal and get better; he couldn't help but shudder because of the way she openly glared at him. Like she wanted something different, or for him to suddenly drop dead. It made him shake.

Johanna Mason was red. Fierce and hazardous, like an enraged bull. He knew that. But all of that vanished in the nights at the Capitol, where they became familiar with each other's screams. Now she was dull, a shadow of that crimson shade she had once been. Muted and easily overlooked. It made him sad to see her this way, in the hospital ward across from him but no longer who she once was. Then again, he had lost himself somewhere along the way too.

Haymitch Abernathy was grey. Drab, hazy and unwavering, but he did try to care. It reminded Peeta of his family who he knew to be dead. He supposed Haymitch filled that void in some way, as a mentor and someone who was actively trying to look out for him when he could. Neither outstanding nor terrible; always in the middle, as his life had been for so long. But above all, reliable and _familiar_.

Delly Cartwright was a very bright yellow. Kind, interesting and warm. Safe and a familiar face from District Twelve. A constant, energetic beacon to remind him of the person he used to be and the life he used to have. She'd always been chipper and healthy, and he remembered the days where they would play and even pretend they were siblings. Even here in District Thirteen's hospital, he could never be angry at her or see her as anything other than _safe._ Delly would help him. Delly wouldn't let anything happen to him here. Right?

Finnick Odair was blue. Calm but strong and dangerous, like the sea. Never to be underestimated or taken for granted. Intelligent and wise. When Finnick would watch him or visit with that small woman, he would never say anything, as though he had an understanding. There were some words that bumped around in the back of Peeta's head, but they never fully came forward – they were always swept away with some small sparkling memories. He supposed that they would as he got better. And unlike some of the other colours, it was never wholly bright or completely muted – it always flickered in between.

Gale Hawthorne was brown. He was muddy and hard to decipher, but a constant colour. A needed soldier, a needed piece in the war. Stability and endurance. Just like in his paintings, brown is important, even though it is not always wanted – but it would look unnatural without that colour. Gale was important even though he has his differences with Peeta. That much was obvious. Sometimes Peeta wanted to shrink under his gaze.

Katniss Everdeen was harder to place than everyone else who walked in throughout the days. Maybe it was because of his fear that she would shoot him, or because if he looked into himself, he didn't know how he was supposed to feel or react. He eventually settled on orange, his favourite colour. Like the sun, with the ability to give and take life away. Neither fearful or feared, but revered. And yet even with everything that had happened, he still fought to tell the difference between his memories. Real or not real. A threat or safety, like Delly. But still, he knew she was orange, even as he remembered the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips.

People were shouting at him to drop her, and his mind battled between shiny and not-shiny memories. Even as he was pushed back down onto the bed, he remembered someone he thought he used to be. Harmonious, tied with safety and growth. Helpful and familiar, like brown. He remembered people always smiling at him, like they would smile at the new foliage in the meadow.

Through the pain and confusion, Peeta Mellark hoped he was green once. More than anything, he hoped he would one day be green again.


End file.
